where it lost a limb

a glimpse of twisted heartwood mosquito in my ear

weighted by ice

the laurel leaves turn pale-side up

in the black cherry snag flying squirrel dung

the trees wear icy collars at the high-water mark

dressed as itself on Halloween

pods twist in the spaces between the thorns

now that it’s dead it can shine all year long

blossoms lost to the heat in just four days

trees drag the rippled snow with their nets

even better on the drifts than my snowshoes

digging through the blue shadows in search of food

I find the patch of moss where I once spent the night